All About That Bass
by Zighana
Summary: After feeling insecure about her body, her husband comforts her. HenriettaxButters oneshot, fluff


All about That Bass

_Henrietta feels insecure about her shape and her size after she gets discriminated against at a clothing store. Her husband decides to comfort her._

"Ugh!"

"Come On!"

"Urgh!"

"Fuck it."

Henrietta throws down her jeans in a frustrated huff.

No matter how hard she tried to suck in her gut and squeeze, those damn pants won't button. She's sweaty and out of breath; that was one hell of a workout that had no benefits.

This is the fifth clothing store she's visited that was in her price range; they all didn't have any decent clothes for _plus size. Plus Size, _Henrietta thinks with a snort. What a joke.

She hates how cute they tried to make it sound. There shouldn't be a _plus_ on _any size_. It should just be a size. Why not just call it _Fat Size_ or _Pants for Fatties_, because that's what it sounds like every time she has to go look for a pair of jeans or a dress. She scans the store with disgust. How _convenient _it is to have a _plus size_ section separated from the rest of the room. _You Don't Belong Here, Fatty_ has never looked so _fashionable_.

She looks at the jeans she tried to squeeze into and feels embarrassed. A size 14. She knew good and well she's two sizes up.

It's not that she's in denial, but rather she can't afford to purchase size 18 jeans. Those fucking fashion assholes thought it'd be sweet to add more cash for extra fabric, the short-changing bastards. What's even worse is trying them on, in front of _them_. Those tan, size 8 and under Barbies, prancing around in their expensive purses and make-up, trying on clothes that would look horrible on any normal human being. The way they whine about how fat they look, how they need to go on a diet, and they joke about it. In front of her. When they finally notice her struggling to put on some pants or a dress that just won't zip, they snicker and talk amongst themselves, pointing at her with their eyes.

Oh, how she wished she could gouge their eyes out with her claws.

Instead, she tries on her clothes. She ignores their empty offers for help, their backhanded compliments when a dress doesn't work out. One was even bold enough to suggest a diet to her and almost got a fist to the face.

She's not fat like the way most people think. She works out three times a week, has a healthy diet of vegetables and lean meats, and her weight is the perfect proportion for her height. She's got no hourglass shape like all the curvies in the mainstream but she's okay with that.

She's not lazy, she doesn't live off McDonalds and other fast-food restaurants, and she certainly isn't morbidly obese. She's not going to die from heart disease or diabetes anytime soon.

So why isn't she a smaller size?

Why do her arms have a lob of fat that just won't go away?

Why does her stomach still have that pudge?

Why is her ass still fat?

And most importantly…

Why is she being singled out for her size and shape?

Ever since she was a child, she was picked on for her size. _Fatass, Lardy, Thunder Thighs, Fatso, Piggy McPiglet, Seacow, Whale_, to name a few. They'd stare at her when she ate, they'd laugh when she would be out of breath when she exercised. Fantasies of death and destruction became prevalent in her mind growing up, the only solace from her tormented existence is smoking with her friends and reading poetry. Even though she's married and successful, she's still plagued by her bullied childhood.

Middle School and Elementary are the worst years of her life.

She drove home from the store that day, eyes trying to fight the tears from falling.

It's not the memories; she knows it's all behind her. She knows she's beautiful, and successful, and a grown woman. She has a loving husband and with any luck they could work on having a child next year.

So why are the tears coming?

She comes home, unbuckles her seatbelt and enters the front door of her house wordlessly. Butters is busy making his pot roast when he notices his wife rush upstairs without so much as a hello. Curious and worried, he slings off his oven mitts and rushes upstairs after her.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I just feel…ugly."

"Ugly?" He sits down beside her.

"Yeah, ugly. I couldn't squeeze into a size 14. And…those girls were looking at me."

"What girls?"

"Those Barbie wannabes. They were pointing at me and laughing because I couldn't wear my jeans. I just felt so…fat and disgusting."

"Well ain't that a crock of shit!" Butters exclaimed.

"Henrietta, listen to me. You should never feel ugly because of your size. You're my puddin'. And who wants a watery, thin, puddin' cup? Certainly not me. You know you're beautiful. Don't let those chicks get into your head."

"I know, but I just felt really insecure about my body…"

"Then how about I help you feel very secure about your body." Butter places kisses on her curves and belly.

"I'll make you feel beautiful and sexy, the way a woman should feel. All night long."

The next day, Henrietta goes to the same clothing store. She grabs the jeans off the plus size rack and proudly jams them into the Sales Associate's arm.

"One."

She slides on her jeans. She looks at herself in the mirror. She runs her hands over her body.

She's beautiful.

With a nice ass.

A cute stomach.

Jiggly and soft arms.

And a beautiful smile.

It was then those awful memories went away forever.


End file.
